First Offense by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page A

would do this to her overrode any gratitude she might have felt. Why would anyone shoot her?
    What had she done? Was it someone just shooting randomly, or shooting specifically at her?
    Someone suddenly jerked the curtain back so abruptly that Reed was startled. Lucy Childers, almost as wide as she was tall, her permed gray hair like a Brillo pad, poked the detective in the back with a finger. “No kids, Reed. You know better than to bring a kid in here.”
    Reed’s face softened in a mock plea. “It’s her kid, Lucy. Have a heart. I mean, you’d have to be as cold as—”
    “That’s enough, Reed.” The nurse looked David up and down and then barked in a gravel voice, “Five minutes more. That’s it. I’m counting, Reed. Young people carry all kinds of infections.” She checked her watch to let the detective know she meant business.
    Right behind the nurse, Ann saw Tommy Reed’s face, and then her heart swelled when she finally focused on David. “Oh, baby, come here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to turn on her side and then grimaced in pain, but her hand moved to the railing as she reached out for her son.
    “Mom,” he said, squeezing her hand in his own. Her other arm was strapped to an IV board. “I love you. Mom.”
    “I love you too, honey. Don’t worry. Promise me you won’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” Ann’s eyelids would open, flutter, and then close. Fighting with all her strength against the pain, she knew she had to comfort her child. “The bullet didn’t even hurt,” she bed, managing a chuckle. “It was no worse than a bee sting. That’s all, David. I bet I could go home right now if I wanted to.” Ann tried to sit up in the bed, to show him she was okay. “See,” she said, using her free hand to brace herself to a sitting position, a weak, lopsided smile on her face. Then her head drooped to one side, and Reed put his arm behind her neck, gently lowering her back to the bed.
    Reed waved the boy out of the room and remained by Ann’s bedside. Where the hell was Abrams, anyway? He’d called Reed after he’d interviewed Sawyer, and the detective had expected him to be at the hospital by now. He wanted him to take David back to Claudette’s house.
    As soon as the child shuffled out the door. Reed touched Ann’s cheek with a callused hand and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Ann, listen to me. Were you raped? Can you tell us anything about who did this to you?”
    “I…don’t know who did it,” Ann stammered, her face as pale as the sheet, a solitary tear rolling down the left side of her face. “It hurts so bad. Tommy.”
    “I know,” he said, choking up. “If I could take the pain for you, Ann, you know I would.”
    She stared into his eyes before speaking, comforted by the sight of his strong face. “I didn’t see anyone. All I heard was the shots and the car engine.” Her eyes closed and then opened again a few moments later. “No rape,” she said. “I wasn’t raped, Tommy. I was shot.”
    “Did you see a car, Ann?”
    She shook her head and then mouthed, “Nothing.”
    Suddenly Reed looked up and saw Glen Hopkins standing at the foot of the bed. How long had he been there? “She can’t have visitors yet,” Reed snapped. “If you want to be useful, Hopkins, take David back to Claudette Landers’s house.”
    “But I…” the attorney started to protest, then just let it ride.
    Ann turned her head toward the sound of the voice. “Glen,” she said, “is that you? Oh, God, Glen, I—”
    “I asked you to take the kid home,” Reed said to Hopkins between clenched teeth. “Can you do that for us, huh? We’re trying to conduct an investigation here.”
    Glen stepped up to Ann’s bedside, said a few comforting words to her, and then jerked his head, indicating the detective should step outside. Once they were in the corridor. Glen erupted. “You’re about the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. I care about